Kintla Flatlands born unto trouble

Open for anyone!

Sunrise split open the day, stretching the colors through the sky with reckless abandon. Echelon had come down from the mountains, narrowly snaking her way past the territories with their boastful claims. Someday soon, she suspected that Tartok would be among them. But as to where they would set up their claim she did not know, let alone ponder. Tonravik would know where to go, as she always did. Echelon was merely there to scout ahead, perhaps come back with some bit of information that would further affix what it was that Tonravik would decide of them.

Though she had been inclined to stir trouble with the neighboring plateau to her north, the inky creature had chosen to keep her distance. They had already stirred things at the glacier, having left Njal behind to face whatever demons he felt he needed to handle. She wondered, if they cast him out, if he would come crawling back to Tonravik. Perhaps the glacier would spit them all out, she thought demurely, spit them out and set them loose in the four winds. But her thoughts of her former desire were vanquished, now conquered by the pressing need of less eyecatching designs.

In this case, she had come across prey. More importantly, the leftovers of such. The old elk had succumbed at some point to the elements and though it had been thoroughly gnawed upon, she found some morsels left for the taking. In behaviors almost befitting of her scant coyote heritage, she picked and plucked after the food, tearing after tattered remains and tossing them about gleefully. It was the rarest of display in her behaviour, a clinging remainder of a youth she had never had. Her form of play, alone, with something that would not play back. Something that would promptly cease if she were discovered.

bill elm & woody jackson — born unto trouble